


Regret Message

by one_off_mind



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Gen, I don't know what counts as comfort, Title From a Vocaloid Song, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:09:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22029856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_off_mind/pseuds/one_off_mind
Summary: Mitarai uncovers some old artwork and bad memories. The only feasible option at the moment is to get rid of both of them.
Kudos: 17





	Regret Message

“Gosh, this is heavy.” 

It had been about a year since Ryota Mitarai joined the rest of his former classmates in their more peaceful lives on Jabberwock Island, and exactly four months since he had received  the  package from Future Foundation addressed to him. Mail or any correspondence from those on the mainland at all was rare, but Mitarai had been expecting it. 

The box had come by boat with his name scribbled onto it, and an attached note reading something along the lines of: “We found this in storage and figured you might want  at least  some of it back”. Needless to say, Mitarai did not want  any of  “it” back, and he  had  mentally kicked himself for having not sent a letter or something first so when it was inevitably uncovered, the organization wouldn’t think to ship it overseas to him. 

“What am I going to do with you...” Mitarai muttered to himself, gazing down distantly at the opened box, filled to the brim with old sketchbooks and a couple drawing tablets that obviously belonged to him. After all, he was the only Ultimate Animator Future Foundation had. 

He had, admittedly, been putting off actually opening it up for a while now, opting to abandon the oversized parcel in some dusty corner of his cottage for the past few months. The only reason he had even opened it up now was because he’d nearly tripped and broken his neck over it twice in this week alone after forgetting about it completely. 

Mitarai mindlessly picked up one of the books and flipped through it, his vision instantly assaulted with familiar characters and colors, all done on paper by his own hand. Each image, even as they appeared for a split second, brought on different memories, flashing in the back of his mind like a movie made up entirely of random, seemingly unrelated scenes. He stopped at a simple concept drawing of a girl, the main character of his biggest project. Mitarai couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight of her; he had seen a lot of her, after all, and seeing her again was almost like meeting an old friend for the first time in years. 

The smile soon faded as that nostalgic feeling turned to something sourer. Something laced with terror, with despair. Something wrapped around darker times, sadder times, more stressful times. 

“ _ Impressive, Mitarai!”  _ That’s what  _ she _ would say. “ _ Is it just me, or are you getting better and better by the day?” _

With a half-hearted grunt, he dropped the tattered old book back into the box, his eyes lingering on it a little too long as he went to pick up another one. 

The second book looked to be just as worn as the first, despite only having been filled halfway. Mitarai chalked that up to the years of sitting in disuse as he began to thumb through the pages that had been touched. These were mainly  colorful landscapes and scenery; cheerful, calming atmospheres filled with bright pastels  holding an inviting warmth to them that was clearly beyond that of a normal high school level. 

“ _ Wow! Look at the Super High School Level Leonardo da Vinci! Don’t let me distract you now, my little worker bee.” _

Almost subconsciously, Mitarai slammed the book shut, hardly even registering as it  slipped between his fingers and  dropped to his feet. He almost had half a mind to grab for a third one, but stopped as he immediately took notice of his shaking hands, and the stinging sensation pricking at his eyes. The realization that he was about to cry was what started the tears rolling, hot balls of fire that fell with such ferocity it nearly scared him. Mitarai slowly withdrew his hand from the box, instead just staring at it – or at least staring as best he could with tears severely blurring his vision – with a detached expression on his face. 

“ _ Come on, show me what awesome talent you’ve got hidden away!” _

“ _ Just the Ultimate Animator is all...” _

God, how Mitarai wished he had never told her his talent. Or better yet, never showed her what he was working on, the project he wasted away for months, maybe even a year or two, trying to perfect. How was he to know all of that would go to waste? How was he to know he’d be manipulated so well even he couldn’t see the signs until it was far too late? Until innocent students died?  How was he to know he was capable of being so  _ stupid? _

In an instant, he was on the floor, the tears falling faster and harder by the second. At this point, Mitarai wasn’t entirely certain he even knew why he was crying, especially so hard. All he knew was that whatever it was, it  _ hurt _ . It hurt so damn bad, like the world had suddenly crashed on top of him and now he had that new weight to bear. 

It shouldn’t have felt like this. It shouldn’t have hurt. What happened, happened, and it was all in the past, destined to be penned into some unenthusiastic student’s history textbook, meant to be skimmed over with vague interest. Eventually, no one would care anymore. No one would really remember. That’s how all great things ended. So, why did Mitarai care? Why did he remember? 

_ Why does it matter... _ _? _

Mitarai slowly rose from the floor, taking one last long look at the box of abandoned art supplies. He knew there was no point in going through them; nothing they held really did matter. Not to him, and not to anyone else he cared about. That’s why it hardly came as a shock to him when he found himself on the beach that evening, the box of nothings held tightly in his arms and a determined grip on a box of matches. 

“Do you need help carrying it?” 

“No, I’m fine. It’s mine to carry anyways.” 

Mitarai hadn’t asked the Ultimate Imposter to follow him down to the beach that evening. In fact, he hadn’t even told him what he was planning to do. However, when the two of them locked eyes as the Imposter spotted Mitarai leaving his cottage, they seemed to come to a mutual unspoken agreement that this was what he needed to do to really move on. 

“Wouldn’t it be less trouble to just throw it into the ocean or something?” 

Mitarai had to chuckle at the comment as he dropped the box onto the sand. “I’d rather not be responsible for pollution. Besides, it might wash up on the shore again.” He struck a match against the side of the matchbox, pale eyes gazing into the flickering bulb of fire it created. “This is final. I’m not going to let Junko  Enoshima haunt me forever. I’m going to live here happily with you, and all the rest of our friends.”

It was a magical moment, watching the match fall from between Mitarai’s fingers and onto the pile of a past he was no longer a part of. The fire sizzled and crunched loudly as it ate away at the forgotten dreams and crushed hopes, devoured the pretty lies. 

“It’s also prettier this way.” Mitarai muttered, the tone of relief noticeable in his voice. 

The Imposter hummed, inching closer to him as they both stared down at the  still-hungry flames he had made as they feasted on the old books. Neither of them said another word to each other. This, in all honesty, didn’t truly get to the bottom of or even completely eliminate Mitarai’s feelings, but it seemed to be good enough for him, so in the moment that was all that really mattered. 

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short I was cleaning my closet and found old artwork and yucky memories and then wrote this woot
> 
> I have no idea if burning what makes you upset is a good idea or not don't @ me


End file.
